My Favorite Smell
by YanzaDracan
Summary: Prompt – Into the West – the look of both predator and prey. Johnny Ringo and Eliot Spencer. Who's the predator, and who's they prey?


The noise level dropped to almost nothing as the bat-winged doors slapped behind the wiry man in black, red sash flowing down his leg like blood.

Pale green eyes surveyed the inside of the Oriental. He took a deep breath and let it out, then smirked around the cheroot clenched in his teeth. Johnny Ringo loved the smell of fear, especially when he was the cause.

A spot at the bar quickly cleared for the man everyone knew was insane. Milt waited patiently for the gunslinger to settle. Ordering a shot and a beer, his eyes traveled over the faro tables. He frowned at the corner table. No one had shifted their attention from their game when he entered the saloon.

His sharp gaze dismissed Wyatt and Doc, though his blood quickened at the sight of the immaculate Holiday. The southerner constantly needled Ringo, sidling up and in that breathy Georgia drawl offered, _'I'll be your huckleberry'_. It made Johnny want to rumple the gambler 'til they were both breathless and stuck together.

His pupils dilated with lust as he got a look at the man sitting across from Doc. Back to wall, face shadowed by a slouch hat, long dark hair littered with beads and leather flowed over the collar of an elk skin greatcoat. Ringo could feel his mouth water at the sight of the slim fingers and fine boned wrists that flashed out of the long sleeves.

Pictures of his hands tangled in the long hair, the smaller man under him, Johnny fucking that tight ass until the stranger was used up, and passed off to the rest of the Cowboys had Ringo's cock so hard, he was glad the red sash hid the telltale bulge.

He sipped his beer as he continued to stare and indulge himself in visions of the ways the _Breed_ would entertain the Cowboys until they tired of their toy and put him out of his misery.

As if tired of Ringo's scrutiny, the stranger raised his head from the study of his cards to look across the room.

Ringo's breath caught at the sight of full lips and high cheekbones as the light crept under the brim of the _Breed's_ hat. He forgot to breathe as he waited to see the rest of man's face.

Gathering his winnings, shaking hands with Wyatt and Doc, Johnny barely contained a moan as the stranger left the faro table.

Shorter in stature than the gunfighter, the man was just perfect for what Ringo had in mind.

The doors of the Oriental had barely stopped swinging when Ringo followed him into the night.

Not seeing the stranger on the sidewalk, he headed for the sheriff's office to collect his rig. He wasn't worried ... There weren't many places in Tombstone for the stranger to go. He felt his body flush at the prospect of running his prey to ground.

He stepped into the shadows between the Oriental and the mercantile ... His hand automatically went to the gun that wasn't there when the shadows moved. He bared his teeth in a false smile when he saw the _Breed_.

"Well looky here. Just the man I was hopin' to find." Johnny's eyes and voice held hints of chaos and pain.

Slouch hat hanging by the stampede string, the handsome face was highlighted by the watch fire burning in the middle of the street.

"A smart man would be hopin' I never found 'em." The voice was low and dark.

Ringo's mouth dried and all the blood rushed from his cock to his brain leaving him light-headed. He backed up a step from the pale eyes of the now recognizable bounty hunter.

"How ya doin', Johnny?" The dark baritone crooned.

The voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up as the shorter man took a step closer.

He moved backwards again, hoping to reach the safety of the light spilling from the windows of the saloon.

Like a striking rattler, a hand shot out grabbing a fistful of shirt and pulled the taller man into the alley. Body slammed against the wall, Ringo fought to regain his breath.

"Good … I'm good … Just callin' it a night ... Headin' to the hotel." He stammered.

The shorter man studied his prey. His nostrils flared at the smell of his fear, his pupils dilated at the wall-eyed expression on Ringo's face. His blood raced as the second most feared member of the Cowboys trembled in his hands.

He reached up and patted Ringo on the cheek.

"Good to know you're being such a good boy, Johnny." The gravel voice was condescending.

He turned his back on the gunfighter and disappeared into the shadows.

Ringo breathed a sigh of relief as he slid down the wall into the dirt. Not many people could say they met Eliot Spencer in the dark and lived to talk about it.

~ Fini ~


End file.
